


Not even a one-in-ten shot

by SgtSalt



Category: True Detective
Genre: Bisexuality, Gen, Homophobia, Sexuality discussion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 09:14:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15167465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SgtSalt/pseuds/SgtSalt
Summary: A short ‘what if’ where everything’s made up and the points don’t matter. What if Rust Cohle was knowingly bisexual, in Louisiana in the 90s? Some discussion, no shipping, all southern prickliness.





	Not even a one-in-ten shot

"Hold the fuckin' phone." Marty nearly runs them off the road twisting to look across at Rust, who stares back like he doesn't even feel the way the car bounces through a deeper rut that Marty doesn't know to avoid. "You're not gay. I seen you with Laura." 

"Mmm." Rust isn't even looking at him now, just turns to the window, elbow resting in the crease of it and the door. 

Marty waits what feels like an appropriate amount of time with still no response. " _Well?_ "

"Well what, Marty?" Rust looks ahead, hand held aloft, cigarette trailing smoke. 

"Well so what the fuck is this, you talkin' like you're-- you know." His face grows a bit ruddier in the Louisiana heat. Marty rolls down his window an inch more. 

"Gonna have to be more specific."

"God _damn_ it, Rust, I ain't fucking around with this!" 

"Why? You got someone you're gonna try and set me up with, if I give you the answer you're waiting for?"

"Fucking-- No, Rust. I don't give a damn about your love life." 

"Then why are you asking about it?" 

A vein pulses in Marty's temple. He feels it echoing out to his fingertips, flushed against the wheel. "That time in the bar." His teeth grind, his voice coming out harsh from behind them. "When I was saying that shit about the-- folks nearby us." 

Rust doesn't say a word, barely moves, but his eyebrows twitch up in the last moments before Marty cracks. 

"Well I just don't want you thinkin'-- I wasn't talking about you, Rust. I didn't know I was. Wouldn't've-- said that kinda shit if I knew, is all." 

Rust just turns back to his window. The brief flickers of his reflection that Marty can catch show him the ghost of a smirk before it all ticks back down. "Yeah, Marty. I know you'd've lied if you had the forethought to prepare for it." 

Marty swears under his breath, cranking his window down the rest of the way. 

 

Two more miles in, he flicks on the radio to cover up the awkward chasm Marty feels yawning wide between them. Rust doesn't complain until they reach the next town, when he switches it off with a mutter about "That bullshit you like listening to," and it's what finally clears the air enough for Marty to stop feeling like he might choke on it. 

*

"Does Maggie know? Hell. That what you and my wife talk about, when she's so peppy to get you goin' on dates? She been sortin' you out with cowboys when I'm not around?"

"No, Marty." Rust's eyes don't even flicker over to him, just keeps staring off into the distance like the damn fields are gonna tell him what to do next. "She don't know." 

"What, never thought to fill her in, too?"

"Well, what're the chances?" Rust just keeps staring out at the swampy growth. Ash shifts off the end of his cigarette when he jostles it with speech. "Statistically speaking, it's not even a one-in-ten shot you're looking at for same-sex attraction. Couple that with the improbability of finding anyone you're compatible with as a whole, the general vexation of going through the process of elimination with potential partners - and being in Louisiana? Brother, I'd be casting that net, what, two more people wide for the whole damn state? Hell's the point? We both know it just gives her something to do, picking through her coworkers for me." 

Marty leans back against the cruiser, metal still ticking as it cools behind him. His mouth is pulled over to the side, feeling like he's tasted something sour. "So you're just playin' nice with all those girls, to make my wife feel better about playin' matchmaker? That sound fair to those girls to you, Rust? You wanna think about their feelings a second and not just your-- probability vexation?"

"I'm not gay, Marty." 

Marty's voice comes out a hiss. "Then what the fuck we been talking about this whole damn time?"

"I was married. You think we had a child by accident? That I had to close my eyes and imagine someone else instead of my wife?"

Marty's eyes are closed and then roll skyward. His jacket shifts out of place when his hands land on his hips. "You gonna stop talking in sarcastic riddles and just explain this shit to me?"

"Like I said." Rust takes a good drag on the cigarette. The silence stretches between them like a rubber band, and just when Marty's about to feel it snap in his chest, Rust keeps going. "I don't really get what your big interest in all this is." 

"'Cause I don't understand it, man, and I'd like to not-- Listen." Marty huffs, looks behind them as if someone might overhear. Beyond their car, parked at the side of a dirt road in the middle of the bayou, there's just the road in two directions and a whole lotta swamp to eavesdrop. "What I said at the bar. I don't want you thinkin' I'm not okay with whatever you...do in your spare time. I just kinda figured you weren't gay." 

Rust's face doesn't twitch, but he grows more still than before. It's like watching a pond freeze over, no movement signifying it's growing colder and more solid but you can still _feel_ it. Marty shifts, uncomfortable, and stands up straight rather than lean back against the car. “Ain’t gay. Ain’t straight, either, I guess. Never needed to pick a word.” Rust’s eyes very deliberately find Marty’s. Marty wishes he had something to fidget with, the way Rust’s got his damn cigarette. “‘Cause most people don’t give a damn who I am or am not interested in fucking.”

“I don’t give a damn.” Marty says, and despite the angry heat he still feels in his face, this time he thinks he might actually mean it. “Just wanted you to stop fuckin’ around with the riddles. You realize you get people wound up and askin’ _more_ questions when you don’t give a goddam yes or no, right?”

Rust’s already looking away, but this time he doesn’t look have that self-satisfied blankness to him. Doesn’t look troubled either, not really, but there’s a pinch to his expression that tells Marty he’s not the only one thrown a curveball today. 

“Come on.” Marty says without any urgency. “Let’s get back to work.” But neither of them moves. 

Marty doesn’t say anything else, not til the silence has stretched out thin enough that it doesn’t feel rough anymore. The ride back to the station is, for once, a ride of quiet contemplation.

**Author's Note:**

> Just came to me one day. Definitely meant as a one-shot, but I may add more of an exploration someday.


End file.
